


Looking In

by blue--phantom (twilightscribe)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Kink Meme, Lavellan Backstory, M/M, POV Lavellan, POV Outsider, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 20:34:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15759189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twilightscribe/pseuds/blue--phantom
Summary: Eilian comes to Skyhold, searching for his cousin, the Inquisitor. He finds more than he expected.





	Looking In

Eilian comes because he worries.

There’s also a not-so-small amount of guilt mixed in, because it should have been _him_ at the temple, not Caerwyn. His cousin – First to their clan – should not have been asked to venture forth on such a dangerous mission; he’s too valuable to their clan, whereas Eilian is just another hunter.

Caerwyn would, of course, argue with that evaluation. They are the only family each of them have left. And Eilian would willingly storm the Void itself if it meant rescuing his cousin. Even though Caerwyn is the elder of the two of them, Eilian has been the one who got into trouble fighting scraps when they were children and the other children picked on Caerwyn for his hair, for his being distant from others his age.

He still has yet to forgive himself for the spider incident.

And so, Eilian takes leave of their clan where they have set up camp in the Free Marches, and begins the long, treacherous journey across Orlais to Skyhold.

It’s the farthest south that he has ever been, and the climate is colder than he is used to. Luckily, there are other Dalish clans in Orlais who are friendly enough to a wanderer of another clan, and he is able to make trade with the wares that he collects from his hunts.

“You are very far from your clan.”

Eilian nods, “I am looking for my cousin. He was at the Conclave.”

He gets a sad shake of the head in response, “Then I’m afraid he’s likely dead. Few, if any, survived.”

But Eilian knows different. He simply accepts their sympathy and continues on. The days drag into weeks, and he wonders if he should have somehow tried to convince Linril to allow him to take one of the halla with him; it certainly would have made the journey easier. And less lonely.

Still, he finishes the journey in relatively good time, having pushed himself a little harder than he should have. His pack is almost distressingly light when he arrives at the encampment in the valley, above which the fortress of Skyhold towers upon its rocky plinth. He only takes in the view for a few moments, of the sun as it blazes behind the giant structure as it sets, before he begins the final leg of his journey.

He makes it to the gates before the guardsmen close them for the evening. One of the guards stops him before he can enter, stating, “Identify yourself.”

“I am Eilian, a hunter of clan Lavellan.” He pauses, then adds, “I’ve come looking for my cousin.”

“Aren’t much in the way of you Dalish elves about,” the guard comments. “Most of ‘em keep to themselves in the camp below. ‘Suppose it’s alright if you spend the night up here; too dangerous to make the climb back down in the dark.”

Eilian nods.

There are a few tents pitched in the courtyard, for visiting pilgrims. As Eilian understands it, the quarters within the castle proper are reserved for dignitaries and nobles. For him, though, it’s a blessing and the cots within look far more comfortable than his bedroll and the cold ground. As accommodations go, he has slept in worse.

“The commissary’s still open,” the guard who showed him in says. “You can get something to eat there. And there’s always the Herald’s Rest, if you’re in want of a drink and a good song – courtesy of either Maryden or the Chargers. Depends on who has drunk more.”

“Thank you.”

Eilian worries little about his belongings being stolen, for his has nothing of value to his name but his bow – a gift from Venaya, their clan’s master craftswoman, when he came of age and achieved the status of hunter. And even that has little value beyond sentimental; there are likely finer, more beautifully adorned bows out there.

Still, he is loath to be parted from it, and so he keeps it slung about his back. In a fortress full of shem, he can hardly be too careful.

The commissary is easy enough to find, with people wandering in and out through its doors; bringing with them the tempting scent of baked bread and cooked meat. Eilian’s stomach rumbles in response, to which he responds by clapping a hand over it and hurrying his pace.

 

 

 

Once he’s fed himself, Eilian wanders around the courtyard and outbuildings of Skyhold, trying to locate the Herald’s Rest that the guardsman had spoken of. He only got a general direction from him, but eventually he has to stop a passing woman and ask for directions. Though she gives him a confused look, she points him towards his destination.

The Herald’s Rest is located on the upper courtyard, along one of the outer walls that flank and defend Skyhold. It’s a rather simple, three-story affair, with a sign hanging over the entrance depicting the Maker’s Bride, Andraste.

Even from a fair distance away, Eilian can hear the rumble of conversation, laughter, and even the occasional snippets of song. It becomes louder, almost all-encompassing, when he pushes open the heavy wooden door and enters the tavern.

He’s nearly knocked back by the smells of leather and sweat. Not to mention the stink of ale – Eilian has never seen the attraction to the stuff and avoided it, though there are those in his clan who liked to imbibe a little too much.

Surprisingly, it’s harder to find an unobtrusive seat than Eilian would have thought. Every inch of the tavern seems occupied with people – human, dwarf, and he even spots a qunari towering above them all in one corner.

There’s a gentle hand on his arm, “He’s here.”

Eilian nearly draws his dagger, only stopping when he realizes that the young man who touched him means him no harm. In fact, he peers at Eilian almost curiously, with very wide, very pale blue eyes from under the brim of a truly ridiculously large hat.

“I – who are you?” Eilian only relaxes slightly, hand falling away from his dagger.

“The Inquisitor,” he answers simply. “He’s here. You just didn’t see him. The Iron Bull is very distracting; he doesn’t think that you would come.”

“Are you–” Eilian pinches the bridge of his nose, “I’m sorry, but _who_ are you again?”

“Cole.”

“Alright, Cole.” If he’s honest, he isn’t surprised that his cousin knows such a weird shem; Caerwyn’s always been a magnet for the strange, and never cared what others thought. It must be some privilege or oddity of being the First. “You’re sure he’s here?”

“He comes every night,” Cole replies. “To listen, to sit, to enjoy the sounds and company. He likes being part of something – of belonging and not feeling as though he doesn’t quite belong. Like a puzzle piece that just won’t quite fit, no matter how much you try to force it.”

He cocks his head to the side, as though listening to a voice only he can hear, “You tried, but you couldn’t fill the void – you couldn’t make everything go away. Magic is a rare, beautiful thing, why couldn’t they all see it too? Soft-spoken, too kind for his own good – you always needed to keep him from harm.”

“... that’s not at all creepy, you know.”

Cole blinks, slowly, eyes too large for his face, “He finds it endearing.”

There’s a loud burst of laughter, followed shortly after by an eruption of cheers. Eilian glances over, spotting the qunari from earlier easily. There’s another shem, foot planted on a chair and re-enacting some great fight or battle enthusiastically for the surrounding crowd.

But that’s not what keeps his attention.

Rather, what catches his eye is the bright flash of white hair tucked up against the qunari.

Even from such a distance, he recognizes Caerwyn easily. Slight and willowy as always, with his shock of white hair, Caerwyn stands out as he always does. He’s leaning into the qunari now, and Eilian is certain that there’s a hand resting on one large thigh, though he can’t see it through the crowd.

The qunari tips head head towards Caerwyn, his mouth quirking into a smile and he nods at something that Caerwyn’s said, which has made his cousin laugh a little – and turn a little pink in the cheeks, something that Eilian has never seen happen before.

For so many years, it had just been Caerwyn and Eilian. Caerwyn’s parents has passed on when an illness had swept through the clan some ten years eariler, while Eilian had been orphaned when he could barely walk. After that, they had been raised together as brothers.

Eilian hadn’t given thought to finding Caerwyn involved with anyone. His cousin’s always been so distant and, after the spider incident, less likely to trust easily or even open up to another. And yet…

He’s never seen Caerwyn’s face so open before, never seen that soft, shy smile that he wears so well in that instant. There’s a life to him that Eilian hasn’t ever seen – not since they were small and before Caerwyn’s magic had awakened.

“He’s happy, then?” Eilian says, glancing to his side at Cole.

“The Iron Bull makes him feel cared for, valued – like something treasured and precious.” Cole pauses, “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you that he liked when The Iron Bull–”

“If it’s something they do in the bedroom, I don’t want to know. And you shouldn’t tell others either. It’s… considered rude.”

“Oh.”

He cocks his head to the side, spots an empty table, “Why don’t we have a seat, and you can tell me more of my cousin and this… Iron Bull.”

**Author's Note:**

>  **Words:** 1625 words
> 
> Written for [the following prompt](https://dragonage-kink.dreamwidth.org/87087.html?thread=350103599) on the DA kink meme: "Outsider's POV. Could be one of the inner circle, or maybe just a regular soldier at Skyhold." Perhaps not _exactly_ what OP was looking for, but I may expand on it later on, who knows?


End file.
